The Definition of Beautiful
by the0voice0from0above
Summary: Steve finds an injured bird outside his apartment. He takes it to his neighbour, Bucky, who is a vet.
1. Chapter 1

_An: Just a bit of fun. I've never written a stucky fic before so sorry if the characters are too OOC and I have absolutely no idea what a strained wing on a bird would look like._

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><p>There's a small bird sitting on the step outside Steve's apartment complex when he arrives home that night. He expects it to fly away as soon as he draws near, but instead it hops into the corner, tilts its head back and stares at him with a tiny eye. Its feathers are blue and white with little black markings—quite a pretty bird and not one Steve has seen in the city before.<p>

He pauses far enough away that the bird won't panic. "Go on. You'll get hurt if you stay there," he says, wafting his hand.

The bird squints at him. Its wing keeps drooping and won't fold up properly. It mustn't be able to fly, ponders Steve. He watches it ruffle its feathers, stamp its matchstick feet and settle in beside a lump of chewing gum and an M&Ms wrapper. Other than its floppy wing there isn't any visible damage, not that he can see.

Steve glances around. The street is empty and silent, the putter of car engines distant and indistinct in the night air. It's quiet, so the bird is reasonably safe for now unless a cat finds it, and there's every chance that one would. Then there's also the problem of morning. After the sun has risen it's likely to get crushed under the feet of passersby since no one is going to check for injured birds on the pavement in their rush to get to work on time.

Although Steve wouldn't normally condone disturbing nature, let alone do it himself, he decides to take the bird inside to keep it safe.

He reaches out towards it. The bird's little beak opens in instant panic, and it tries to scuttle away, throwing itself haphazardly behind a plastic candy wrapper. Before it can tumble off the steps, Steve removes his sweatshirt and drapes it over the bird. The bulge under the material wriggles, making Steve grin. Carefully, he picks it up and carries it inside.

He makes it up to his apartment with difficulty. Despite being tall and strong, he's extraordinarily clumsy, and whenever he injures himself –which is more often than he would care to admit—it's usually his own doing. In an effort to keep the bird safe, he bangs his elbows on swinging doors and squeezes into the elevator.

Once inside the warmth of his apartment, he can breathe a bit easier. He lays the sweatshirt down on the kitchen table. The bird hadn't made a sound while he had carried it inside and he's worried the stress might have killed it. When he moves the sleeve away, however, the bird is still sitting, slightly ruffled, in the nest of his sweater, looking up at him as though to say, "Now what?"

"Good question," replies Steve. Is he supposed to keep it warm with a lamp or is that only for hatching eggs? What if he doesn't warm it at all and it ends up dying from the cold? Or what if he warms it too much and he finds a southern fried bird cooking on his kitchen table the next morning? What do birds eat? Worms?

In this situation most people would have consulted the internet. "Just Google it!" his friends often say. Unfortunately, Steve isn't computer savvy. He isn't technology savvy. In fact, he struggles to set up his DVD player at the best of times. He's got stacks of films he has yet to watch because he's lost the remote control to his DVD player and doesn't know how to navigate the menus with the fiddly buttons on the front of the machine. Rather than searching the internet he prefers to do without.

Thankfully, on this occasion, he doesn't need to since his next door neighbour is a vet.

In the two years that Steve has lived in his apartment, he has made acquaintances, if not good friends, with everyone in his building. The only person he hasn't had a full conversation with is his neighbour who, ironically, is the closest person to him (geographically speaking).

It isn't that they don't get along—Steve likes to think he's a good resident; he has never asked for anything, barring the single use of a telephone after he had accidentally locked himself out of his apartment (a simple mistake to make, and wouldn't have been too embarrassing if it wasn't for the fact that he had been wet, practically naked, and shivering with towel wrapped around his waist)—they just didn't talk.

Even so, Steve figures they are on good enough terms to request a small favour. And it isn't as though it's not important—a bird's life is at stake.

Steve's still nervous though as he knocks lightly on his neighbour's door. He's expecting to have to wait. It's past eleven o'clock after all. But almost immediately the door swings open to reveal his neighbour, James ("Call me Bucky") Barnes, in low slung sweat pants and a baggy t-shirt. His dark hair is untidy and he looks warm and welcoming and secure.

All of a sudden Steve feels too hot. His palms start to sweat. "Uh, hi."

"Steve," says Bucky, his lips spreading into a slow, easy smile. Unlike Steve, Bucky is completely relaxed. His voice is soft and even and reminds Steve of cream slipping over strawberries.

"Hi," he says, then realises he's already said that. His cheeks are pink. His face is too hot not to be pink. "I've got a bird."

Bucky's smiling still as he raises a brow. "Yeah? Good for you." From anyone else it could be construed as a bit of a dig. Bucky makes it gently teasing. It's warm enough that there's no bite to it at all, and Steve doesn't feel as much of a fool as he probably should have.

"I meant I found a bird. I think it might have broken its wing. Uh, I'm not sure if-if you want to take a look or I could call an animal. . .uh, vet clinic. . .?"

"I'll take a look, sure," replies Bucky like Steve isn't a stammering mess.

They stand there for a moment, looking at each other.

"Do you want to show me where it is?" suggests Bucky. "Or do you want to stare a little longer? Either is fine with me."

Steve jolts, cheeks burning. "Oh, yeah, sorry. I—this way." He clears his throat. He trips over his own foot as he enters his apartment again and curses mutely.

Steve's a tidy guy so thankfully there's nothing embarrassing lying around and the place is clean. He feels Bucky at his back—he's hyper aware of it— even though Steve knows he's a polite distance away.

The little bird is still sitting where Steve had left it. It shuffles frantically upon their arrival and tries to leap out of the sweater.

Bucky makes a small noise of surprise. "Where did you find him?" he asks, moving closer. Without hesitating he gently scoops the bird up and examines it. "You're a long way from home, pal."

"What is it?"

"He's a male cerulean warbler."

"Oh." Steve stares, distractedly, at Bucky's nimble fingers, strong but careful. "I found him outside, on the step. He didn't look like he could fly."

Bucky _hmmms_ quietly. The sound sends a wash of heat through Steve. He finds himself resting a hand on the table, unable to prevent himself from leaning closer. He can smell Bucky from where he's standing, a mixture of fabric softener, antiperspirant and something else, something intoxicating.

Bucky pulls the bird's wing away from its body and as he lets go it flaps back into place. "Well, good news," he says, gently placing the bird back in the nest of Steve's sweatshirt. "It looks like a strain. Have you got a cardboard—?" He turns around and stumbles over the last words, clearly surprised by how close Steve is.

"Sorry," says Steve quickly, backing up a few steps. Steve's too embarrassed to look him in the eye so he looks at his feet.

There's a long pause.

"Do you have a cardboard box? Like a shoe box?" says Bucky finally.

"Uh, I think so," says Steve looking up because etiquette absolutely demanded it. "In my, uh, bedroom?"

Bucky's polite smile, which hides clear amusement, looks controlled. With effort. "Think you could get it?"

"Yeah, of course. I'll be right back." Steve stumbles into his bedroom, opens his wardrobe, digs out a shoebox with a brand new pair of shoes inside and empties it. He returns to the kitchen quickly.

Bucky pierces two holes in the lid of the box, places a towel in the bottom and sets the bird down inside. "I'll take him with me to work tomorrow," he says as he places the lid on top. "There's a bird sanctuary close to the surgery. I'm sure they'll be happy to look after him 'til he gets better."

Steve's still looking at Bucky even after he finishes talking. He's got a face that's hard to turn away from. It takes a whole ten seconds and a raised eyebrow from Bucky to get Steve talking again. "Right. Good. That's good. That's. . ." He takes a breath. "Uh, good?"

Bucky's eyes flit away though the smile he has is still there. "I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess that I make you nervous?"

"No," says Steve quickly.

Bucky stares.

"Okay, yes," Steve admits. "A little."

"Any particular reason? It's not like I can intimidate you when you're taller than me."

"You can be short and still be intimidating."

"You saying I'm short?"

"No! No, I was just trying to make . . ." He stops babbling once he spots the laughter lighting Bucky's face. Steve rubs the back of his neck, switching his weight from one foot to the other. "It's hard for me. I don't have a whole lot of experience talking to beautiful men."

"So you've never talked to yourself before?"

Steve blinks in confusion. "No."

Bucky presses his lips together like he's containing a grin. "You think I'm beautiful, huh?"

"Yeah," breathes Steve. He tries to exhale but his breath gets caught somewhere in his throat.

"That's one I haven't been called before." Bucky moves closer. He rests his hip on the kitchen table and tilts his head, looking at Steve with something akin to affection in his eyes. "You're one of the good guys, aren't you? A good guy through and through. The kind that rescues birds with strained wings."

"I'm no better than you. You're a vet. You save animals every day. By those standards you must be a saint."

Whatever softness there was in Bucky's eyes vanishes like a flickering flame on a candle blowing out. It is replaced with something false. "Neutering cats doesn't make me a saint."

"And what I did does?"

"That's not what I meant."

Steve licks his lips. He's in with both feet now; might as well go all the way. "I think you're beautiful. Inside and out."

Bucky snorts. "You don't even know me. And that's a really cheesy line."

"I'm a cheesy guy," says Steve. "But I'm also a good judge of character, and I want to get to know you."

Bucky looks down at his feet. There's a sad smile on his face that makes Steve's heart clench. "No, you don't."

"I do. Let me take you out for a drink."

"Steve. . ."

"Bucky," he says. "I don't know who lied to you or who made you think you weren't a good person, and you weren't beautiful but take it from me. . .you are."

Bucky sighs. He lifts his face to study Steve for a long moment then without even the slightest warning, he curls his hand around the back of Steve's neck and kisses him. It's just a long press of lips but the intimacy sends heat racing through Steve's veins.

Bucky releases him. He picks up the shoe box from the kitchen table and turns to leave. "See you around, Steve," he says, and exits the apartment.


	2. Chapter 2

The Kiss—incident capitalised—replays in Steve's head on a continuous loop over the next week. He finds himself staring into space at work instead of urging his clients to do twenty press-ups or get their knees higher. He doesn't see Bucky at all within that time, and he's worried he isn't going to.

There was something sad about the way Bucky had looked at him like he didn't believe a word Steve had said. He probably didn't, and Steve couldn't understand it. How does someone as beautiful as Bucky have such low self esteem?

Steve would knock on his front door again if he could build up the courage to do so and think of something worthwhile to say. Bucky had made it clear he doesn't want to go on a date and Steve doesn't want to push him or make him feel awkward. At the same time he desperately wants to see him again.

He's at a loss as to what to do.

Steve's client, Mrs Peterson, who is currently lifting weights, hasn't stopped talking since she arrived and normally he would have zoned out to think about Bucky—as unprofessional as it is he _really_ can't help it—but she mentions her pet dog is sick and he immediately awards her his full attention.

"I know a vet," he says, maybe a little too eager.

She raises a sculpted brow. "You do?" Mrs Peterson is a good looking woman and ordinarily he'd feel insecure about introducing her to someone he likes. However, Steve knows for a fact that Bucky is one hundred percent gay and won't be interested in her no matter how low cut her top is, which, right now, is pretty darn low.

"Yeah. My neighbour, James Buchanan Barnes," says Steve, averting his gaze from the sweat damp tank top that was clinging on for dear life to her voluptuous breasts.

"Is he good?" she questions.

"Yeah. . ." says Steve with a wistful sigh.

Mrs Peterson snorts. "I wasn't asking if he was good in bed."

Steve's stomach leaps, and he flushes hotly. "I—we haven't—I'm not. . ." he stammers, but his client has stopped listening.

"Does he do house calls?"

"Uh. . ."

She sits up and wipes the sweat from her face with a towel then pats her chest. "Give me his number."

"I don't have it," says Steve regretfully.

"Then give him mine. Tell him to call me." She gets up. "What next? Quads?"

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><p>Now that Steve has a valid excuse to call on Bucky, he doesn't feel half as bashful as he would have done when he raps his knuckles on his neighbour's door later that day. It's just after six o'clock in the afternoon. The last of the sunshine is disappearing from the window at the end of the corridor and although it shouldn't, it seems like a bad omen.<p>

Turns out he's wrong.

Bucky pulls the door open and his lips tilt into a warm smile. "Found another bird?" He's still in his blue scrubs. There's a pair of muddy paw prints on his chest and a smudge of dirt along his waist. Bucky leans heavily against the door frame like he's too exhausted to even stand up straight. It's then that Steve notices a slight redness around his eyes.

"You look tired," Steve can't help but say.

"That's because I _am_ tired," replies Bucky with an easy grin. He tilts his head so it's resting on the door jamb. He's watching Steve through half closed, drowsy eyes that could easily be misinterpreted as come-to-bed-with-me eyes. "I've been on call over the past couple of nights and I haven't caught much sleep."

Steve nods. If that's the case then he doubts Bucky would want to see another client, especially one as loud and as overbearing as Mrs Peterson.

"Steve's settled in well at the bird sanctuary," says Bucky. "Thought you'd want to know." The last words are a long drawl. _Thought y'd wanna know._

"Steve?" asks Steve curiously. His heart is pounding, not because he's nervous, but because he has the strongest urge to touch Bucky, slide his hands around his waist, feel the warmth of his skin, hold his hand, smell him, push his fingers through his hair. . . The want is strong enough that his fingers tingle.

Bucky grins, baring his white teeth. "He had to have a name and since you're the one who found him. . ."

"You named it Steve," repeats Steve.

"Steve the cerulean warbler," confirms Bucky. "It has a nice ring to it. Don't you think?"

"I suppose."

"What, you don't like the sound of your own name?"

There's something about the way Bucky speaks that makes everything he says sound lascivious. Whether it's his lazy drawl or his adorable sleepiness or the warmth coming from him that Steve can feel even from where he's standing, he doesn't know, but being in Bucky's presence is turning him on fast and hard. It doesn't help that Steve hasn't been intimate with anyone in. . .way too long. A strong breeze could excite him right now.

Standing (or leaning) in front of him is something better than a gust of wind though, it's Bucky, the personification of sex, and Steve is all too aware that if he does allow himself to fall deeper into arousal, his gym gear isn't going to hide anything.

It takes him a second to realise that the feeling might be mutual. Bucky is watching him intently. His eyes, though blue, look darker and his expression shifts ever so slightly into something that warms Steve from the inside out.

Steve swallows. "I don't know."

"Well, I like it."

"Yeah?"

Bucky nods and drags his tongue over his own lips. It doesn't _look_ intentionally obscene, but Steve suspects it is, especially when Bucky's teeth press into his bottom lip and he smiles.

Clearly Bucky is tired and horny. Steve's just horny and maybe possibly a little bit in love with Bucky in the most superficial sense. He doesn't know him well enough to fall head over heels, but he has no doubt that he could.

There's good chance of them jumping into bed together if Steve makes a move and as appealing as that sounds, he won't do it. He wants to date Bucky, get to know him, not sleep with him and never talk to him again, and something in his gut tells him that Bucky wouldn't speak to him later if they slept together now.

So, rather than take the easiest route, he says, "Do you want to go out for a drink tonight? Or maybe get a cup of coffee tomorrow?"

Bucky heaves in a breath. On the exhale he sags a little. "No thanks."

"Can I. . .Can I ask why? I mean, you kissed me."

Bucky smiles tiredly. "I kissed you."

Steve waits but apparently there's nothing more his neighbour wants to add. "Why?"

For the first time, Bucky's gaze falls away to the floor. "I. . ." He hesitates. "I don't know." He meets Steve's gaze. "You were sweet." He smiles and that look of affection is back again. "You called me beautiful."

"That's because you are."

"Even though I'm a guy?"

"Men can be beautiful. Anything and anyone can be beautiful." Steve steps closer, invading Bucky's personal space, without meaning to, but Bucky doesn't seem to mind, he just looks up at Steve with his sleepy eyes and blinks.

"Haven't you ever met someone that can only be described as beautiful?" says Steve. "You'll look at their hair, their eyes, their lips and you'll notice that they're good looking but the word doesn't fit because you also see the way they hold themselves, their insecurities, the sound of their voice, the way they smile, the way they laugh. You want to get to know them better because you're so attracted and you can't summarise you're attraction into one word like "handsome" or "funny" because they're so much more than that." He shrugs helplessly. "Sometimes beautiful is the only word that fits."

Seconds of silence tick by and Steve's worried he's said too much, been too forward, then Bucky drags Steve in for a scorching kiss that's nothing like the slow press of lips they shared the week before. It's breathless and open mouthed and desperate and Steve's brain has trouble catching up to the sensations barrelling through him.

Bucky tugs at Steve's hair and draws him closer, close enough that Steve can feel the hot press of Bucky's body from chest to thigh. It's also a shock to feel how aroused Bucky is. He has to gasp when hands drop to his ass, where Bucky squeezes and grinds hard against him.

He's walking backwards, pulling Steve into his apartment and it's next to impossible to stop, to deny Bucky what he wants, what they both want. He does though because he has to.

"W-wait," Steve manages to force out between hot kisses and silky tongue. "Wait."

Bucky growls and draws back. His cheeks are pink and whatever tiredness was clouding his eyes earlier has disappeared in favour of lust. "Please tell me you don't want to buy me dinner first."

"Well. . ."

"Steve, can we just skip right to sex? I get that you're a wine-and-dine type of guy but there's no need."

Steve's hands are resting on Bucky's waist like they belong there. He feels just as warm as Steve knew he would and smells even better. "Why?"

"Why what?" says Bucky with a frown. His lips are kiss-sore-red and since his skin is quite pale it reminds Steve again of strawberries and cream.

"Why isn't there any need? You deserve to be taken out. I want to buy you a drink, a meal."

Bucky sighs and steps back and as he does he takes the heat with him. "It's not me. That's why."

"Dating?"

"Dinner."

"You don't eat?" Steve's brows draw together. He's worried he's being argumentative and decides to back off. He's ready to retreat, apologise for pushing when, to his surprise, Bucky smiles. It's an exasperated smile but a smile nonetheless.

"Have you fallen out of a Disney movie?"

Bucky's smile is infectious.

"Call me Prince Charming," says Steve with open arms.

"I'm starting to think you are."

"So. . .a drink?"

Bucky nods and Steve tries not to let his excitement show. "There's a bar a couple of blocks from here called Bridgewater. Meet me in there at eight tomorrow."

Steve's a little disappointed that Bucky doesn't want to go out tonight but then he remembers how tired Bucky is and the disappointment disappears. "Tomorrow at eight."


	3. Chapter 3

"What's this?" asks Bucky when Steve sits down next to him. He looks and smells incredible in a deep blue v-neck sweater and jeans, and Steve can't quite believe he's on a date with him.

Bucky picks up the torn section of notepaper that Steve pushed across the bar's worn counter.

"It's the definition of beautiful," says Steve.

Bucky's mouth quirks. He dips his eyes to the paper and Steve marvels at the length of his eyelashes. "Beautiful: Pleasing the senses or mind aesthetically."

"That's you."

Bucky rolls his eyes, but there's a grin on his face that he has trouble hiding. "You're so cheesy I think you might actually be maturing."

"Well, as long as you like cheese I don't mind."

"I like _all_ kinds of cheese," replies Bucky, slanting a look at Steve.

"Why do I get the impression you're not talking about cheese?"

"And why do I get the impression that _you_ are?"

They stare at each other, smiling. Steve lets the silence linger just so he can enjoy looking at Bucky's face a little longer without having to think about talking. "I don't know," he finally says. Bucky's obviously expecting a crude answer, but Steve would only embarrass himself if he tried to do that.

Bucky tilts his head. He's fingering the beer bottle in front of him. "Are you always so noble?"

"I'm not noble," says Steve automatically.

"Do you need me to define it for you?" Bucky's grin is both impish and sexy. "I can write to down if you'd like."

"I'm not noble," Steve insists. "I just treat people the way I think they deserve to be treated."

Bucky's smile fades. He takes a long swig of beer. "Some people aren't worth it."

"Some people. . .as in you?" Steve wishes studying Bucky was enough to read his mind, to know what was going on behind his blue eyes. He searches his face for clues. "You don't think you deserve it?"

"It's not that I don't think I deserve it. I just don't think I'm worth the effort," he says it easily like it's fact, and Steve has trouble understanding that.

"Why?"

"Because. . .I'm not like you." Bucky hesitates. For a second he looks like he's about to leave it at that, but then he continues, "I've never met someone who wanted to date me, not just sex, but actually _date _me. I've never had someone treat me the way you do, talk to me the way you do. I haven't had any bad experiences in relationships. I just. . .have never had. . ._that_."

From the sound of it, it seems like Bucky has had no good experiences with relationships either. Steve is going to change that. Starting now.

He wraps his hands under his bar stool, lifts his feet up and hops closer to Bucky until their arms are touching.

Bucky's lips purse like he's doing everything in his power not to laugh. "Why didn't you just stand up and move?"

"I didn't think of that," says Steve honestly.

* * *

><p>Much later, when they're warm and tipsy from the few beers they drank, they make their way back to their apartments, stopping outside Bucky's first.<p>

"So, a kiss and a "goodnight" or. . .?" Bucky has got a hand on his front door like he thinks he knows the answer already.

Steve, however, is unsure. He wants to spend the night with Bucky but has absolutely no idea how to ask. He rubs the back of his neck, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. What if Bucky didn't like their date? If he did how is he supposed to find out? He can feel his cheeks burning. When he peeks up, there's surprise colouring Bucky's face. It soon morphs into a smirk the longer Steve squirms.

"C'mere," says Bucky, dragging him by the shirt into his apartment.

Steve's pressed up against the door before it can close fully while Bucky attacks his mouth. His heart is trying to beat its way out of his chest. He tries not to think too much, because he knows from what little experience he has that it's best in these situations to go with the flow, let whatever it is that's about to happen happen in any way it wants to happen._ Wait, what_? Steve shakes his head to clear it. It's unlikely to clear though with Bucky sucking on his neck like Steve's skin is Bucky's favourite flavour and undoing the button of his jeans. What am I supposed to do? thinks Steve in a blind panic. Is he supposed to take Bucky's shirt off? Undo his pants too? Grope him?

Steve inhales sharply when Bucky's hand dives into his underwear. It's like Steve's been doused with icy water, because he can't breathe through the shock. "Wait," he gasps.

Bucky looks up but, rather than stopping, slows the speed of his strokes. It's more of a massage than anything close to jerking off, but it still feels _incredible, _and Steve's having trouble standing up right.

"You want me to stop?" asks Bucky.

Steve swallows. After so long without any kind of sexual contact, it's much more than pleasure that he's feeling, it's a relief. The idea of stopping is painful. He shakes his head. "But. . ."

"But what?"

"We're in your doorway," he breathes.

"I'm going to make you come right here," murmurs Bucky. "Then on the couch. Then in the bedroom." With his free hand he cups the back of Steve's neck and brings him in close for a kiss. The wet drag of his lips partnered with the squeezing strokes along his cock makes Steve shake with want. He's almost embarrassed by the amount of precome spilling over the tip of his cock.

When Bucky speeds up the strokes, and Steve starts to breathe heavier, he pulls back to watch Steve's face.

The hotter Steve gets, the less inhibitions he has, which is a good thing, or he would be worried about his open mouthed choked off moan when Bucky's left hand plays with his balls. It sends him over the edge, and he comes with a shout.

The milky liquid is all over Bucky's hand, and he's eying Steve as he lifts it to his mouth and licks it.

Steve can only stare.

Bucky turns his back on him, still licking his fingers, and pulls his sweater over his head. It falls to the floor with a soft _whump_. The muscles in Bucky's back are highlighted by heavy shadows and the warm, soft-yellow lighting. Maybe it's the fact that Steve has just had one of the best orgasms he's had for a while, or maybe Bucky really is that beautiful, but Steve thinks he could get an erection just from watching Bucky walk about shirtless.

Bucky looks over his shoulder. "You coming?"

"Again?"

Bucky grins. He flops down on the couch, kicking off his shoes and unbuttons his pants, completely at ease in his own skin, unlike Steve, who is sweaty with anxiety. He edges towards Bucky.

He's standing, big and awkward by the couch. Some of that awkwardness disappears and is replaced with burning heat when Bucky pulls out his dick and starts to jerk off. He lays his head back, slouching down into a more comfortable position and stares at Steve. He snorts when he sees how rigid and (probably) red in the face Steve is.

"Relax," says Bucky. His breathing is shaky. "Maybe I should have made you come last." He licks his lips. "Take your shirt off."

In his haste Steve pulls his shirt too hard, and a few buttons fly away like plastic bullets. He looks down at it in shock, surprised by his own strength.

Bucky cracks up. "Or rip it off like the Hulk," he says; the corners of his blue eyes crinkle in amusement. "You're so nervous," Bucky comments. "Is this your first time with someone?"

"No. . ." Steve tugs the remainder of his shirt off.

"Could have fooled me," says Bucky. "Sit down."

Steve does, and Bucky leans in, fingers threading through his hair. For a moment Steve sits there rigidly, unsure of what to do, then, kiss by kiss, begins to relax, letting Bucky take the lead.

They kiss languidly, lazily. Bucky seems to prefer the wet, slow, softness and the hot slide of tongue than the frantic kissing at the door, because he moans into Steve's mouth. The sound is so sexy Steve feels dizzy with the rush of heat that shoots through him.

Bucky tugs a little on Steve's hair and pulls back. He's panting now, the hand he has on his cock moving fast.

Steve shifts and palms at his own swiftly hardening dick. He doesn't know what to stare at. His gaze drags from the sopping tip of Bucky's cock to his taut stomach muscles and pectorals, expanding and contracting with his every breath. He raises his eyes higher to Bucky's face and another bolt of heat burns through him.

Bucky's looking at Steve through heavy lidded impossibly dark eyes. He puts a slight pressure on the back of Steve's neck. It's more of a question than a command, but Steve pretends it's the latter because it makes his dick stiffer and allows Bucky to push his face into his lap.

Steve's lips slide over the wet tip of Bucky's cock and Bucky gasps, hips stuttering. "Fuck," he hisses.

With his tongue, Steve massages the head of his dick. It doesn't take much teasing before Bucky spills into his mouth. He swallows it all down. He's still sucking and licking as Bucky's breathing slows and Bucky lets him despite the usual sensitivity after climaxing.

Bucky touches his face and Steve takes it as a cue to lift his head. Without really thinking about it, Steve tangles their fingers together.

"Sweet and hot is pretty rare," drawls Bucky, taking note of their joined hands. He's wearing a lazy smile, and Steve finds himself matching it.

"Can't be that rare if you're hot and sweet too."

Bucky laughs loudly. "Do you have a book full of these corny lines?"

"No, but I could write one. It can go on my bookshelf next to the book about you."

"You've got a book about me?" says Bucky, both amused and suspicious.

"Well, it's not _about_ you, but you're in it," clarifies Steve.

"Oh, really? What's it called?"

"The Dictionary. You're the definition of beautiful."

Bucky bursts out laughing, and Steve grins.


End file.
